


Nurse Gayle

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bath Sex, F/M, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: Eliot's idea of medical treatment is...unique.Based on The Carnival Job





	Nurse Gayle

 

_Any job that ended well for the client was a good job._   Eliot repeated that phrase over and over in his mind, riding back to the brewpub after one of the worst (for him) jobs since he joined the team.  He wished Nate had insisted on driving; Parker’s erratic style kept bashing his bruised side into the door.

Yep, he was glad it had turned out so well for the client, especially for little Molly.  Kid captured his heart.  He had walked into the arena pissed as hell; willing to die to get her out of the clutches of the Russians.

Breathing the smoke from Hardison’s witches’ brew ( _find the hottest liquid that’s not water, mix and run like hell_ ) that cleared the park had constricted his lungs.  Despite this, he gave a good account of himself in the first fight – no more than a well-placed punch to take out what Hardison called _a little trouble_ – struggled some in the second fight – it was getting hard to breathe by then – but he gave as good as he got until that Russian bastard switched on the carnival ride.  Knocked him senseless; he slid off the edge of the diamond plated skirt like a fried egg out of a nonstick skillet.  When he woke up he saw double for a while; the mirror house was especially disorienting.  The guy he thought he hit turned out to be a panel of glass; his knuckles punched a hole in it, shredding them.  Then that fucking Roper had come within an inch of beating him to a pulp.  There were a couple of times he didn’t think he’d get back up.  Fucking bastard had ridiculed him; that got his blood pumping with hot rage, but he channeled it.  He couldn’t trust what he saw so he shut his eyes.  That made it easier to take Roper down.  The glass panel hiding Molly shattered and a powerful elbow strike took out the last guy.  Molly was at last, safe in his arms.

Coming out of the mirror house, _Botasky_ was supporting him as best she could.  The look on her face somehow made everything _Perky_ had gone through worth it.  Any job that ended well for the client was a good job.

Eliot followed Nate out of the carnival grounds, not quite able to hide the badly bruised – maybe cracked – ribs that made it impossible for him to walk erect; while the shredded hand dripped blood along the pavement.  Nate said nothing about his battered appearance; nor did the others as they joined him to see the Russian babe get hers, locked in that car.  It was all part of the job.  They’d been through plenty themselves; getting shot, buried alive, nearly drowned…  The police sirens grew louder in the distance.  By the time they arrived, the Leverage crew was long gone.

Back at the brewpub Eliot sat beside Parker, swathed in a hooded sweatshirt and a leather jacket, his hand bandaged the best Sophie could do.

‘Hey, man,’ said Hardison, ‘you really should have let us get you to a hospital.’

‘I hired a nurse,’ Eliot replied in a low, gravely voice.

Parker piped up, emphasizing her remarks with several punches to Eliot’s bruised shoulder.  ‘Ah, that-a-boy, a little chicken noodle soup, a little grandmotherly love…’

Eliot flinched in pain.  _‘Stop!’_

Just then, a tall, leggy blonde in little black dress strolled through the door, her long, straight hair swinging gracefully.  Eliot painfully got to his feet and walked stiffly toward her.

‘Hey, how are you?’ he asked the blonde softly.  He turned to Hardison and threw a half-assed introduction his way:  ‘This is…Nurse Gayle.’

Parker and Hardison watched as Eliot trailed ‘Nurse Gayle’ out of the brewpub door.

‘I don’t think she’s registered,’ Hardison observed.

‘I don’t think she’s a grandmother,’ said Parker.

~~~~~

Gayle was a good two inches taller than Eliot, making it a bit easier for her to help him to the waiting cab, for once out of the brewpub and away from the team, his legs felt like wilted carrots.  He slid into the back seat, groaning.  As the cab whisked them away to Eliot’s apartment, he lowered his head to her lap.  She pulled back the hood, stroked his hair and cooed to him.  Her quaint Nordic accent was soothing.

The apartment was too cold.  He gestured to the thermostat.  She raised the temperature and watched him painfully shuck off his jacket, sweater, shirt, t-shirt; open his belt buckle, drop his jeans and, grabbing the kitchen bar for support, step out of his shorts.  He was making slow progress toward the small wet bar – a beer wasn’t going to cut it this time – when Gayle stepped around him and poured an iced Jack and coke.  He perched on the bar stool, sipping it, while she inspected his body.  Except for the hand he put through the mirror, none of the bleeding injuries required stitches.  A few breaks in the darkly mottled skin, a split lip, road rash, skinned areas.  The pulsating water of a hot shower would wash them clean and be good for bruised muscles.

‘Any more double vision?' she asked.

'I'm not concussed, Gayle,' he growled. 'I know what that feels like.'

'Very well, then. Just to be sure, you understand.' She replaced the blood-soaked bandage on his injured hand with a dry one and enclosed the hand to the wrist with a plastic bag, taping it against moisture.

'You must keep those stitches dry.  Mr. Ford did a good job with them, did he not?’

Eliot grunted a reply.  It was Nate’s turn, after all.  Eliot had sewed Nate up a time or two.

‘Give me a few minutes to prepare your bath.’

He nodded in agreement. After she left the room he poured a bit more Jack into his drink. After he polished it off, he managed to refill and finish a second, then a third.

‘Spencer, your bath is ready,’ she called to him. 'Incredible, that bath. I've seen many bathrooms but yours is most impressive.'

Eliot’s shower was a pebble-tiled wonder equipped with a wide, deep bench lined with teak, slightly concaved, forming a shallow pool.  Three nozzles played gently on anyone occupying it.  The water pooled beneath just deep enough to soak in before it drained away.

Ice clinked in his glass as he carried it to the large, luxurious bathroom.  Gayle had disrobed and was waiting for him.  She looked at him with mock severity and took the glass from his hand.  ‘How many is that, Spencer?’

He held up three fingers, not looking at her.  Gayle clicked her tongue as he stepped inside the glass enclosure.  She helped lower him, groaning, onto the teak bench.  Her hair streamed over her shoulders; the ends plastered against her large breasts as she leaned over him.  He lay there thinking this type of medicine beat any of the others all to hell.  Homeopathic.  Herbomorific, if that was a word.  Therapeutic call girl.  There ya go.  Yeah, that and three doubles; he hardly felt anything now.  The wet curtain of hair that hid her curves excited him; he reached for her breasts but she guided his injured hand away from both her curves and the water spray.  Gently, she fingered his wet locks back as she perched on the bench beside him, smiling at him.  He closed his eyes.  She tipped a bottle onto her palm and began shampooing his long hair.  He lay reveling in the sensation.  His free hand stroked whatever he could reach.  The shower rinsed his hair; she conditioned it and untangled it with her fingers.  Next, soaping a large sponge, she washed away caked blood and grime from his face, arms and chest.  She pivoted to do the same to his belly, legs and feet.  Foregoing the sponge, she soaped her hands to bathe his groin.  His breathing increased; he was becoming erect.  She stopped her ministrations and distracted him.

‘I will make you ginger tea to help clear your lungs.  Drink several cups a day for a while to help with the detox.  Whatever that was you breathed in did your lungs no good.  Also, can you smell the eucalyptus?’

‘Is that what that is?’ he queried in a husky tone.  His free hand found its way back to her breast.  She took it away.

‘Yes, that will also help.  Breathe deep.  Now lie still, Spencer.  The bath is finished; you need the therapy of the hot water.’

‘Gayle,’ he whispered.

‘Yes?’

‘I need more than that.’

‘Price increases.’

‘I don’t care,’ he said, and pulled her down, kissing her.

It was frustrating only having one hand when she had two breasts, firm and high and natural.  Hard to find a high class call girl these days without silicone.  He detested it. He cupped one in his hand and nuzzled the other, gently sucking the nipple and whorling his tongue around the soft fullness.

‘All right, I do this once, next time you call you tell me ahead of time.  You said you were injured; wanted nursing; aromatic treatments.  I thought you would be too wounded to want to –‘

‘Never gonna happen, Sweetheart.’  He opened his legs and leaned back, still keeping his good hand on her breast.  Behind the wet curtain of her hair, his member was fully erect and pulsating.  She flicked her tongue over it, then suddenly took all of him, a feat not many girls could do.  His breath caught in his throat.  One of her hands encircled the base of his shaft; the other gently cupped and fingered his scrotum.  Her fingers tickled his inner thighs.  Her hand was stroking while her mouth was sucking. The sensation was exquisite; despite the pain his tensed muscles transmitted to his brain, he felt the urge to explode.  She encouraged it, driving him harder and faster.  Just as he uttered a guttural cry, she released him and allowed the creamy flow to be rinsed away, again and again as he continued to convulse.  Completely spent, he lay under the hot water for a time until his strength came back.

He opened his eyes.  She was smiling at him, beckoning him to get up.  ‘Too much of this hot water is not good for you.  Your heart is racing, is it not?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Come.’

‘I just did.’

‘No, silly, out of the shower.  I turn it off now.  I have bathrobe ready.  I tuck you in, talk to you, give you tea, get you settled for the night and you pay me.  That was our deal.  Ja?’

‘Ja.’

She turned off the spigots and pulled his arm across her shoulders to help him up.  He was even wobblier than before.

She toweled him off and slipped his robe on.  ‘Let me see that hand.’

The hand was completely dry.

‘I’ll have to remember that trick,’ he said.  ‘I punch a lot of people.  Not usually glass.’ He took a few steps, grimacing.

‘You have pain.'

'Yeah...got anything for it?'

'I have Tylenol.'

'Tylenol.'

'Ja. Is all you can have. If you had not drunk so much you could have a little of the Demerol. But it does not mix. You already have respiratory issues.'

‘Not even...’ he said teasingly, pinching two fingers together.

'Not even,' she said firmly. She settled him in his big bed, brought her bag, dispensed two tablets and handed him a bottle of water.  He lay there waiting for the tide to ebb. The evening was coming to a close and he didn't want it to.

‘How is it you have Demerol, anyway?’

‘You called my service, asked for nurse girl and therapy, did you not?’

‘Well, yeah, but…’

‘You expect perhaps call girl with little white uniform; do pole dance for you.’

‘Not really, but…’

‘You were with luck tonight.  I _am_ nurse.  Medical.  In fact, I am doctor in my own country.  Yes!  But I cannot take boards here yet.  Not enough English.  So I work here, work there, do many things.  I could have done stitches too, but your Mr. Ford beat me to punch.  This job?  This pay the best.  When I take boards I practice medicine a few years, and I retire early.  Get boat, sail around world. When I come here I smuggle a few drugs in.  That is how I have Demerol.’

‘Huh,' he said.

‘Aspirin will help, you get good night's sleep, wake up new man. Live to fight again, yes? So – you happy with service?’

‘Very.’

‘I bring wallet, put clothes in laundry, get dressed, tidy up.  Wait…you not hungry?’

‘Ate at the brewpub.’

‘Okay.’

She left the room.  Eliot lay there, swathed in the best feeling he’d had in a long time.  Nothing hurt now and the sexual experience had created euphoria.  Presently Gayle returned and handed him his wallet.  He extracted the price asked and added a generous tip.

‘Thanks, Gayle.’

‘You call me any time, Spencer.  You look like you could use nurse like me on retainer.  Ja?’

‘Ja,’ he grinned as he watched her walk stately out the door.  Any job that ended well for the client was a good job, even if he was the client.  He leaned back and let sleep overtake him.

_JA._

 

The End


End file.
